A Story of the Revolution.
BY JAMES BARNES.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE MYSTERIOUS PRISONER.
This short notice and warning was meant in the kindliest way. George knew that well, and read between the lines. But it was plain to see that the plot was frustrated by the force of circumstance. He pushed the missive into the glowing coals of the fire; it blazed up merrily, and disappeared into gray ashes.
Now for flight. It would certainly do him no good to stay longer within the camp of the enemy. He knew no method of communication with the outside, and it would be impossible for him to meet with the others who were supposed to be his fellow-conspirators. Although the furlough he had been granted had been for a month, he was all zeal to return and join his command, but determined not to do so empty-handed. If he could only find out the destination of the large army that was ready to be embarked at a word's notice, a great deal would be accomplished. Was it Albany, Boston, or Philadelphia that was Lord Howe's objective point? If he could overhear the conversation at the meeting that he knew must now be going on at Fraunce's, he would have something that would make his trip far from worthless.
When doubting, use caution, may be a good motto, but under some circumstances boldness will answer quite as well. In fact, it is often the only thing that will carry affairs to successful issues.
George determined to hear the result of that meeting if possible, and then put as many miles of land and water between himself and New York as he could accomplish with the remaining hours of darkness. It would be hard to get across the river, but he doubted not being able to find a skiff or a boat along the wharves.
Back in the town once more, he approached Fraunce's Tavern by a circuitous way, and at last reached the stable, the shed of which was closely under the windows of the private dining-rooms where many a gay party had been given, and where years and years ago the old Dutch Mynheers had met and toasted their one-legged Governor in fragrant schnapps.
It had been better for George if he had started at once for the red soil of his native State. The tribulations which Mrs. Bonsall had predicted were about to cloud his horizon.
Tall as he was, he was not able to look in at the window. He could hear the murmur and flutter of conversation coming from within the brightly lighted room. Placing his hands on the sill, and using all the strength of his muscular young arms, he managed to draw himself up until his head was level with the panes. It was a fine sight to behold. This was not a council of war, nor even a secret meeting. It was merely a gathering of officers to talk the situation over informally.
General Howe did not believe in hurrying. But often ideas and plans develop at meetings such as this that bear important results. The talk was so general that George could not at first make out a single connected sentence, and his arms were tired with holding himself in the constrained position; besides, his face was forced so closely to the window that it seemed certain that some one would see him from the inside of the room. He lowered himself to the ground, and searching the yard, found a tall barrel. Rolling it cautiously to the side of the house, he stepped upon it.
It was now plain sailing—at least, it seemed to be.
Through the window-blind, which, was partly closed, he could look without being seen. The window was lowered a little at the top to admit the air.
"Tis the strangest thing in the world," said the voice of a speaker, whom George could not see, as he was behind the angle of the wall. "He was a clever lad, well knit and straight; they say the heir to a vast property up the great river. Search high or low, no trace can be found of him. 'Tis known that he went to his room at the City Arms, and that was the last seen of him."
"So Rivington was telling me," spoke up a man facing the window. "And I saw him when he called on General Howe. Those despatches were of great importance. But it's the General's intention to leave Burgoyne to fight it out alone on the Hudson. Philadelphia must be taken; I am sure that is the plan."
George's nerves tingled. Here was something of importance to relate.
A red-faced officer arose. "Here comes the punch, gentlemen," he said. "And I propose as our first toast confusion to Mr. Washington, and may Satan fly away with him."
"On to Philadelphia!" George heard some one cry.
"Yes, and rout out their ratty Congress," said another.
Suddenly it seemed to George as if the earth's surface had opened to receive him, and that he dropped from untold heights. The fact was that the head of the barrel had given in, and he was thrown backwards onto the hard ground. He came down with a clatter. A side entrance to the tavern ran close to where he had been standing. In fact, he had been exposed to the view of any one who came up the walk. Just as he had fallen a party of five or six entered the yard from the outside, coming up the road by the stables.
"Hello! What's that out there?" said a voice. The window of the dining-room was thrown up and a white-wigged head thrust out. "I say, who's there?" was again repeated.
George arose to his feet. One of the party coming toward him stepped forward. "What is the matter here?" he said.
Now if he was called to explain his presence it might lead to his detection, and with a sense of horror George saw that one of the party was the heavy man who had been in his room at the City Arms—the uncle of Richard Blount, of Albany, whose bona fide nephew was in confinement in New Jersey.
He jumped to his feet and made a leap for the wall, to get over before the others could reach the gate.
"Stop him there!" said the voice from the window. "See who it is! Stop him!"
As he reached the top, and was about to throw himself on the other side, there were a flash and a report, and a strange pain ran through George's left arm. He lost his balance and fell.
When he came to, for he had been stunned a trifle by the second fall, he saw that quite a crowd was gathered over him.
"Does anybody know him?" some one asked.
"Yes, I do," was the answer. "It is the young man who tried to steal my time-piece the other day." The voice was Abel Norton's.
"Ay, and he took mine too, if it is the same," put in another. The last speaker was Schoolmaster Anderson.
"Turn him over to the watch," said an officer. "We cannot afford to have suspicious characters about. Ah, here he comes, for once in the right place."
"What means this disturbance, good people? Oh, is any one badly hurt?" As these words were spoken a caped figure with a lantern hurried up. He had a long pike in his hand, and a huge rattle hung by a leather thong about his neck.
Two or three bystanders helped raise the young man to his feet.
"He is wounded," said some one, noticing the useless left arm, which was numbed with pain, and which was bleeding.
"The prison surgeon is good enough for the likes of him," said another.
"Come with me, young man," said the watchman, putting his hand on George's shoulder. "You had better have that arm attended to. Oh! he's charged with crime, eh? That's very different."
Followed by Abel Norton, Schoolmaster Anderson, and a few idlers, the party moved down the street.
The "jig" was up now with a vengeance.
"COURAGE," SAID A LOW VOICE AT GEORGE'S ELBOW.
"Courage," said a low voice at George's elbow. "Act well your part." It was like Schoolmaster Anderson to quote even under these circumstances. "Do not fear coming to trial. They are too busy to think of little things like this. We will take care of you as well as we can. Know no one," he whispered.
The party had turned into Vine Street, and were heading for the old sugar-house on the corner, which, like many other gloomy buildings of that kind, had been turned for the nonce into a prison.
While Schoolmaster Anderson had been talking he had shaken his fist threateningly under our hero's nose, and had interlarded his talk with some epithets such as: "You young villain. Steal a watch, will you? Rascal!" and the like.
As they entered the narrow doorway of the sugar-house a portly man met them. He carried a large bunch of keys on a huge ring. Roughly he pushed back the crowd of curiosity seekers, and admitted only the watchman, Abel Norton, Mr. Anderson, and the prisoner into the court-yard. A smoky lamp flared from a bracket in the wall.
"What have you here?" he asked.
"Some one we wish you to look out for especially well and carefully," said Mr. Anderson. He took a bit of paper from his pocket; on it was scribbled "Secretary to the Governor." For some time, however, the schoolmaster had not held that important position. But this the jailer did not know. The watchman, who was a stupid fellow, here spoke up.
"'Tis naught but a thief, I take it," he growled.
"Say nothing. How do you know?" said Abel Norton, in a whisper. The heavy face above the cloak took on a wondrous-wise expression.
George had winced, but as he did so felt a reassuring pull at the back of his coat.
"He's wounded," said the jailer, noticing that the lad was supporting one arm with the other.
"We'll send a surgeon to him," said Abel Norton. "I may be a soft-hearted fellow; but I hate to see any one suffer."
"There's an empty cell on the second floor," put in the jailer. "I suppose you don't wish him to be placed in the main gallery with the others."
Mr. Anderson managed to whisper, as George was led away: "Courage. Two of your friends are with you. We are Numbers Two and Three."
Since his arrest the prisoner had not spoken a word. He did not know how badly he was hurt, and had not recovered entirely from the shock of the fall. The pistol-ball had entered his arm below the elbow. As he weakly followed the jailer up the stairway he passed a sentry, and, looking through an iron-barred door, caught a glimpse of a long room filled with a crowd of hungry-looking, half-clothed wretches. They were political prisoners mostly, but many of them had been soldiers who had so bravely defended Fort Washington a few months before.
"Prepare to receive another guest," said a voice from within the reeking room. "Fresh herring here! All ye salt mackerel!"
Several figures got up from the floor, but the party passed down the corridor and halted before a little cell scarcely six feet square. In one corner were a pile of straw and an old worn blanket.
Faint from the loss of blood, George was only too glad to sink down with his back against the wall. So this was what it had come to, the expedition which had apparently promised so well. What would good Mrs. Mack think of her boarder's sudden disappearance? There was one comforting thought, however. He had friends who were placing themselves in a position of danger in order to assist him. He would rather die than betray them. But how odd: Anderson and Norton—men who were known as Tories. That they also possessed considerable influence was soon to be proved, for in the course of an hour a surgeon appeared and carefully dressed the wounded forearm.
"It's not serious," he said. "I will be in to see you again."
One of the safest places to hide in is a prison, and probably the knowledge of this fact influenced the actions of his supposed accusers, and in such a disturbed condition were the courts of the city that many prisoners arrested on suspicion were held for years without ever coming to trial, in fact, without any indictment being found against them, even the crime for which they had been committed having been forgotten.
As George tossed about uneasily that night in the straw, he now and then dreamed fitfully that he was back once more in camp drilling his company, and again that he was at Stanham Mills, setting traps with his brother along the banks of the roaring brook. Suddenly he felt something hard beneath him. It was the bag of gold! Prisoners who could pay lived in quite a different fashion from the impoverished wretches who were compelled to take what was given them.
He could not imagine why they had not searched his pockets, but the ceremony had been omitted. Running his hand beneath the straw, he found that one of the boards of the floor was loose, leaving a crack that ran almost the entire length of the wall. He took the guineas from the pouch one by one, and placed them in the crack.
When the under-jailer came to the iron grating of his cell the next morning with a stone jug of water in one hand and a loaf of mouldy bread in the other, George extended one of the gold pieces.
"Take this, my man," he said. "You can have more chance to use it than I just now." The man grasped it in his dirty hand, and transferred it quickly to his pocket. At the same time he glanced over his shoulder at the red-coated sentry on the stairway.
"Well, Mr. High and Mighty," he said, drawing back the loaf, "if this bread is not good enough for you, you can go hungry then." He turned as if to walk away, then, walking back, he thrust it through the bars.
"Let me hear no complaints," he went on in a loud tone of voice. "It is good enough fare for such as you."
George could scarcely swallow the rough food. But what was his surprise, in the course of an hour or two, to see the beetle-browed jailer once more before his cell.
"Ho, ho!" he said. "So you have come to your senses. Hand me that stone jug and hold your jaw." As the man extended his hand, George saw that he held a large piece of cold meat and a soft warm biscuit. He took it, and with a parting growl the jailer shuffled away with the empty pitcher.
It seemed to George that the day would never pass. Strange sounds echoed through the building—curses and ribald songs, and now and then the clanking of heavy iron-latched doors. He heard at times the voices of the guards as they exchanged their posts. The only light that entered his little cell came through the window, in the corridor. There was no outlook, and his wounded arm throbbed with pain. Late in the evening the surgeon came again, and the head jailer accompanied him, carrying in his hand a tin lantern. The dim light from the perforations danced in a hundred little spots along the gloomy walls.
After the surgeon had dressed the wound, which he did in silence, and the door had clanged again behind him, George heard him speak to the jailer further down the corridor.
"Take care of that young man," he said. "He is a prisoner of great importance. Answer no questions concerning him, but treat him well. It is necessary that his health should be preserved."
"I suspected quite as much," replied the head jailer. "I have brains. He is no common thief. They wish him for something else, hey?"
"Ay," said the doctor, "that is it. You will find it out in good time, but now I see that you are in the secret keep it close."
To his surprise, shortly after dark our prisoner heard a shuffling at the door of the cell. He had been shivering in the straw in a thin worn blanket.
"Who's there?" he said, his teeth rattling, and his eyes straining to catch a glimpse of what was going on. There was no answer, but as he put out his hand he touched a bundle. He drew it toward him. It was a heavy patch-work quilt. He drew it around him, grateful for the warmth, and thankful in his heart to his unknown benefactor. Immediately he fell asleep as softly as a child might in its cradle.
The days passed quickly. At first it seemed as if George would go wild for the lack of some one to talk to. If it were not for the voices that he could hear at times, and for a few rays of sunlight that shot down the corridor, he would have gone mad. But the jailers treated him kindly; his food was plain, and it was evident that extra attention was being paid to him.
When the man who had first taken the gold piece appeared at the end of the first week, George held another toward him.
"Get me a book, something to read, for pity's sake," he said.
The man had taken the gold piece. "Ay, growl," he said. "'Twill do you lots of good. Where do you suspect you are—at an inn, my friend?"
He had returned, however, later in the day, and thrust a volume quickly through the bars.
Latin and the classics had always appealed strongly to George Frothingham. In the short term at Mr. Anderson's he had made most wonderful progress. What, then, was his delight to see that the well-thumbed, dogeared book was a Virgil! Now how he treasured those few hours of daylight when he could read!
But imagine his astonishment when he found thrust well forward through the iron bars one morning a heavy King James Bible. As he opened it his fingers came across something hard in the back of the binding. He pulled it out—two thin files wrapped about with a bit of paper! On the latter were the familiar characters of the cipher. He had scarcely made this discovery when down the corridor he heard approaching many steps. He thrust the good book and its contents underneath the straw, and looking up, his heart almost failed him, for he caught a glimpse of red coats and gold lace.
"Who is this distinguished personage?" said a strange voice, ironically. It was one of the officers speaking.
"An important prisoner," returned the jailer.
George could see that the whole group had paused before the door. To his astonishment, he saw among them the face of Schoolmaster Anderson. He noticed that the latter plucked the jailer by the sleeve.
"He is here for some good cause. I know not what," the latter continued, hurriedly. "'Twill be divulged later, I suppose."
Two or three of the officers had glanced searchingly into the little den. One noticed the Virgil on the floor.
"Ah, he has some learning, I perceive," said one.
When they had gone, to his chagrin our hero found that the light was too dim to read the cipher message. He must wait until noon of the next day, when the sun would beat through the window around the corner of his cell.
On the day this visit of inspection had been made to the sugar-house prison his Majesty's frigate Minerva was bowling along merrily off the southern shore of Long Island. Again a group of officers were on her quarter-deck. A short man in a cocked hat swept the horizon to the northward with his glass.
"Ah, there it lies!" he said—"there's the new country which, we hope, will soon be flying our flag throughout its length and breadth."
It was a brilliant cloudless morning. Some near-shore gulls hovered overhead or dashed down in the frigate's wake.
Lieutenant William Frothingham felt the invigorating land breeze on his cheeks. He could make out now with the naked eye the low-lying hills. Home again. It was his country and the King's that lay off there, and somewhere, his brother, whom he loved more than any one else on earth, was wearing the uniform of the forces that he soon would be opposed to, maybe in battle. Little did he know that George's horizon was confined by four black walls.
The Minerva, with a bone in her teeth and the wind just right to bring her in, swept past Sandy Hook at last, and blossoming out into some of her lighter canvas, she reached the quieter waters of the bay. Soon were brought to view the forests of masts and the great dark hulls of the fleet that had preceded her. Signals sprang out, and the flags rattled stiffly in the wind. As she passed the Roebuck a sheet of flame and white smoke burst from her side, and every frigate followed suit and welcomed her with a roaring salvo. She swept up the river, the bulwarks lined with the curious faces of the soldiery gazing at the crowded wharfs. At last anchor was dropped in the currents of the broad North River.
Early the next morning boats were manned, and the troops were disembarked. A huge band was there to meet them, and the new arrivals swept into Broadway between the lines of cheering soldiers and citizens. If disloyalty to the King was here it did not show.
The blood surged through William's veins as he walked at the head of his stalwart company and acknowledged the salute of a group of officers standing at the street corner. To his wonder as he went by a row of low brick houses he heard a voice call his name: "Mr. Frothingham! Is it you? Is it you? Is that the uniform?" he heard distinctly. He turned, but could see no one whom he recognized; it had seemed to him that it was a woman's voice, however. There was an odd figure standing there, a washer-woman, evidently; she had dropped a basket which she had been holding, and the ground at her feet was covered with frilled shirts. The crowd about her laughed. Her lips were moving, but the cheer that broke out drowned what she was saying. As the company halted, a figure came out into the street.
"Ah, Lieutenant Frothingham!" said a voice that made William start. "We have you here in the King's livery, I see."
William turned. It was a small man, very gorgeous in a red waistcoat and a heavy fur-lined coat.
"Pardon me for introducing myself. Your brother George was a pupil of mine. I knew who you were at a glance," he added. "You are alike as two pinfish."
"Have you seen aught of my brother?" was William's first exclamation.
"I think I have heard a rumor somewhere," replied the schoolmaster, with a frown, though his eyes twinkled in contradiction. "He was with Washington at Trenton and Princeton. My name is Anderson."
Of course the news of these two affairs had greeted the Minerva when she first arrived in port. It had caused a thrill of astonishment.
"What did I tell you?" had remarked Colonel Forsythe, upon this occasion. "The only people that can beat Englishmen are Englishmen themselves—and what else are these Yankees?"
The regiment took up the march, and William, heading his company, once more turned into a side street, at the end of which were the new quarters. The town swarmed with the red-coated soldiery.
As they had gone down the street, they had passed beneath the shadow of the sugar-house prison. George, from within, heard the loud rolling of the royal drums, and raised himself on his elbow to listen.